


On Missed Buses and Lost Godfathers

by attackonomelas



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:48:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24621880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/attackonomelas/pseuds/attackonomelas
Summary: Harry doesn't call the Knight Bus but instead knocks himself out. Thinking he's wanted by the Ministry for underage magic, he is pleased to find himself under the care of his newly found godfather, also on the run from the Ministry. It doesn't go as planned, though.
Relationships: Sirius Black & Harry Potter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 71
Collections: Fandom 5K 2020





	On Missed Buses and Lost Godfathers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [basketofnovas (slashmarks)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slashmarks/gifts).



> aaah i hope you like it @basketofnovas not quite harry adopted by sirius, but certainly they are headed there
> 
> just know the mean version of this summary was going to be "in which harry falls and gets disappointed, then a little less so"

Harry Potter rushes out of Number Four, Privet Drive, all alone after sending his aunt ballooning into the ceiling. He is breathing too fast and shaking, anger pulsing through him like he’s never felt before. The grip on his trunk and wand are iron tight. He doesn’t bother looking back to see if Uncle Vernon is following him—he knows he can outrun him (though maybe not with his arms full).

The streets are dimly lit and quiet. All Harry can hear is his own loud breathing, the rattling of Hedwig’s cage and his trunk wheels. He doesn’t think before ducking down an alleyway that leads into the next street over, walking in a meandering path for about fifteen minutes until he finally comes to a stop in the shadows of a low wall he’s hidden by many times before on Magnolia Crescent.

He pushes his trunk until it’s out of view from the street, sets Hedwig’s cage down and . He presses his back hard against the cold stone just to feel it and pushes his head between his knees. He pictures the Dursleys must be frothing with anger back at their house, Marge bouncing against the top of the china cabinet, screaming with rage. Merlin’s beard, he’s really up against it this time.

He can’t—he won’t go back to the Dursleys. He can’t stand it. With Hedwig gone and Ron and Hermione out of the country he has nowhere to turn. He’s got no Muggle money and only a handful of coins leftover from last year. If he could get to Diagon Alley he’d be better off, but London is hours away. Would the Ministry come for him before then? He’s not quite sure how the tracking works, but they must know where he is. Are they waiting to see if he’ll break more rules so they can punish him worse?

Surely, he won’t be allowed back into school now he’s gone and done magic outside school. He’ll be expelled and tossed out with nowhere to go. Maybe he could get in contact with Hagrid and live with him, maybe learn about groundskeeping? It would be awful on the ground of Hogwarts and not be allowed to attend, but Hagrid wouldn’t turn him out. Hagrid himself had been expelled from Hogwarts, albeit wrongfully. Harry didn’t even have that—he’d be _rightfully_ expelled because he couldn’t control his temper.

It was just so infuriating to stay there and listen to them slander his parents. It filled him with a flickering coiling rage because nothing Marge said all week was new—she says the same cruel and awful things every time she visits. This was just the first time knew it was all untrue: his parents weren’t drunks who were better off dead; he wasn’t a bad apple born from a rotten tree; he wasn’t some runt who should have died. But she still spoke like it was irrefutable fact, they all did.

Of course, maybe it was true now. He’s going to be expelled from Hogwarts and like take away his wand like they did Hagrid’s and smash it into pieces. He skips a breath and tightens his grip on his wand reflexively. He feels a pulse of magic rush back into his hand in response and he calms himself.

There’s no use worrying himself to death now. His life has always followed Sod’s Law and it’s no different now. If he can just get to his family’s vault, he’ll have money. If he can survive until the Weasleys come back, they’ll help him. He just needs to get to London. He can use the Invisibility Cloak and his broom to get to London, sneak in through the Leaky Cauldron? He looks over at his stuff—he could leave behind his trunk, or hide it nearby. He really doesn’t want to lose his things though, especially not the presents he just got for his birthday. They may be the only ones he ever gets...

He’ll have to use magic, he decides definitively. He can cast a Feather-Light charm on his trunk (maybe, he never quite mastered it at school) and hide under the cloak. He definitely doesn’t want to be seen, nothing good ever comes from being spotted when you’ve done something wrong.

He likes having a plan, and it’s easier to focus on following through on his plan than it is to think about how his hands are still shaking and his head is pounding, so he does. Knocking his trunk down onto its side, he opens it hastily. It’s not very organized—all this things were either thrown in haphazardly or knocked around when he moved his trunk. Finding his charms textbook is easy however, since it is definitely in the pillowcase of books he hid under his floorboards. He nudges his now musty-smelling clothes from the end of the year to the side and pulls out the whole sack. He was almost done the homework for it too.

“ _Lumos_ ,” he whispers as he opens the textbook. The tip of his wands lights up the surrounding area and he scrambles to cover it until he can just barely read the words printed on the page. It’s in chapter three–no–four. He just needs to brush up on the theory so he can get the right form. “Gravitas Penna, _Gravitas Penna._ ”

It’s a nearby rustling sound in front of him that gets his attention. Panic grabs him in a vice grip and he drops the book and looks behind him, waving his wand in the direction of the noise.

Nothing but empty road.

He doesn’t relax. He can sense a presence now, but he can’t see it. He scrambles over his trunk and stands protectively in front of his stuff. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if it’s the Ministry coming for him. Should he surrender? Should he try and run?

He approaches cautiously, trying to swallow his nerve. There’s a gap between the two properties and he can’t see anything. “Hello?”

There’s a long moment of silence. He is just about to chalk it up to an alleycat when hulking shadow emerges from where it was a creeping along the curve of the shrub. The gleaming eyes of a massive dog come into view. It looks _mean_ and Harry startles back a few steps. He trips over his open trunk and falls back. He sees the dog rush forward and feels a cold flash of dread before he feels his head cracks against the stone wall.

Uh-oh.

•••

_Sirius don’t catch him before he falls. He isn’t even fully human yet. he hears the crack of his skull against the wall with canine ears, a resounding thwack that rattles his skull._

_And Harry is unconscious._

_Harry, Harry, Harry._

_He looks just like James. Bleeding. Hurt. Dead._

_Someone will come for them, again. They’ll blame him, again._

_They have to move. Now._

***

Harry is too warm, his head hurts, and his blanket is aggravating his skin. It’s aggravating and he reaches down irritably for the ratty cotton sheet he uses as a barrier between the itchy wool quilt he uses as a blanket.

He doesn’t find it, but does reach the end of his suspiciously shaped and rather short blanket. It’s at that moment that Harry realises he’s not sleeping in his bed. He’s not even in _a bed_. He can feel the padded floor beneath him. Tensing, he opens his eyes and sits up sharply.

This turns out to be a horrible idea, given how he doubles over. It hurts and it’s too bright. Luckily, he’s already on the ground.

"Harry, are you okay?” someone says quietly from nearby. “Are you awake?”

“M’fine.” Harry grits his teeth and pushes down the nausea. Where is he? Why wasn’t he at the Dursleys?

He opens his eyes again slower, his glasses aren't on, but A man on his knees a couple feet again looking at him. His hands reached out towards Harry but not touching him. Squinting, Harry tries to get a closer look at the man, but he’s just a blurry dark lump of a person.

“What happened? Where am I?”

“You hurt your head. This is the only place I know that’s safe. At least, for now. We don’t have much time.” The man’s voice is raspy, like he hasn’t spoken in awhile. He looks behind himself as he speaks, like danger will pop out from nowhere.

Harry remembers falling. He tripped over his trunk, after he saw that—“There was a dog, it was coming for me.”

“He wasn’t going to hurt you,” he says so seriously Harry almost thinks he’s angry. He opens his mouth to apologise for assuming, but the man continues. “I would never hurt you.”

Harry doesn’t know what to say to that, so he ignores him. He’s still thinking about what he remembers happening. He ran away from the Dursleys—he blew up Aunt Marge. He used magic. He’s in such trouble. What was he going to do? Where was his wand?

“Where am I? Where’s my wand?” He looks around him, ignoring the swimming sensation in his head, and tries to spot his wand, his glasses anything. “Where are my glasses?”

“Harry,” the man grabs him by the shoulders, and Harry look at him. He can tell he has long black hair and doesn’t look happy. Harry is very good at figuring out ‘not happy’ but he’s worse at what figuring out what kind of not happy. Is this man annoyed? Worried? Angry? He pulls something out from his pocket. “Here, I took them off in case they were hurting you. You hit your head rather hard and I’m not field healer.”

His glasses. He scrambles to put them on. The room around him comes into focus. They’re in an abandoned room, clustered together in the middle of a dusty rug with broken furniture piled up in all corners. All his possessions are crammed in the corner. The window is boarded up. He looks at the man, scraggly hair and tired face. He looks concerned… maybe. Sad definitely. Tired.

“We’re in Kent. An old vacant loft.” Hours away from Number Four Privet Drive. He feels his heartbeat slow. “I can give you your wand but you must promise not to use it.”

“Why?” Harry asks. He wonders if this man wants to kill him. That seems like the kind of promise a murderer would have you make.

“The Ministry will find us if you use magic again. My wards are hiding you for now, but they aren’t very strong. I haven’t thought about wards in a long time, but they should hold for a few hours. They can probably track me as well, I don’t know who to bet on.”

Right. The Ministry. They must be fuming by now, since Harry’s used underage magic and run away. Maybe it’s for the best, he’s here with this stranger away from them all. Harry looks down at his hands. He can tell now that the scratchy blanket he woke up from was in fact an old coat. He squeezes it with his hands. He feels very lonely all of a sudden, even sitting here with this stranger. He wants desperately for Ron or Hermione to be there. They’d think of a solution—Ron could probably get his dad to explain the whole thing away. Sighing, Harry tries to turn his attention back to the man.

“Why does the Ministry want to find you?”

The man looks incredulous for a moment, like the answer is self evident. “Did they not tell you about me?”

He does look familiar. Harry’s just not sure why until it suddenly clicks and he exclaims, “You’re that escaped convict from the telly! Black. Except you’re not a convict, you’re a wizard. A wizard convict? Does the wizarding world have prisons?”

“Harry, no,” the man, Black, says slowly. He looks at Harry and this time Harry knows it’s with deep sadness.“I mean, did no one tell you I’m your godfather?”

Erm, what?

•••

_No one told him._

_Harry is alive and no one told him. He doesn’t know._

_Sirius looks into the Lily-green eyes of the person in the world he loves most and he doesn’t hate him._

_He doesn’t even know he should._

_Sirius can’t keep him._

***

Harry has a godfather. Harry has always had a godfather. Harry’s parents were betrayed by one of their closest friends and Sirius Black, his _godfather_ , had to pay the price. Harry paid the price. His parents paid the price. But he’d finally come to rescue Harry.

It’s been a couple hours since Harry first woke up. He’s sitting against the wall now, looking out the boarded window. His head feels better—Sirius cast a whole list of spells checking up on his health after he finished explaining. The pain had been reduced to a dull ache, and Harry had been left on the couch with instructions to rest until Sirius came back with food.

He was glad for the time alone. It was a lot to take in—the real reason his parents died, the life he could have had. Sirius still hasn’t told him why it took until now to come get him. Could he not escape before? Did he know Harry needed him?

Being expelled from Hogwarts seems less daunting now, if Harry has someone with him. He still doesn’t want to think about it—isn’t thinking about it. But still, he won’t be alone again and he definitely won’t have to go back to the Dursleys.

He squeezes his wand. Sirius gave it back after he promised three times not to cast a spell unless someone found him. He was so concerned to leave Harry alone, like he would just disappear. Harry feels the same, he almost asks him to stay, but the rumbling of his stomach sets Sirius on a mission.

He wants to owl his friends. Hedwig is still gone though and he’s not sure she could even find him, all the way in Kent under some web of wards that keeps everyone else out. He hopes she does find him soon.

She’ll like Sirius.

•••

_It’s a risky manoeuvre, pinching the sandwich bag from some haggard mother outside the café._

_He scares her, he knows he does._

_He hears her scream as she darts forward, ripping the bag from her hands with his jaws._

_But he doesn’t even touch her and he needs this food._

•••

Sirius knocks on the door in code and waits for Harry to open it. It feels very much like a muggle spy film and he returns the knock eagerly.

“What happened after you saw the dog?” Sirius asks, holding a torn paper bag tightly around his head.

“I fell,” Harry says. “You saw me.”

“I have to be sure it’s really you.” Sirius says, tossing him the bag. Harry opens it to find a tuna sandwich and wrinkles his nose. Gross, even Dudley hates tuna. Luckily, the other is a cheese toastie. He thanks Sirius profusely. “During the war, you couldn’t trust a person by their appearance. They could be a spy in disguise, so you had to ask a personal question.”

Harry takes a moment biting into his sandwich before he responds. “Like, Polyjuice Potion?”

“Yes. Did you learn that in school? Do they teach that in second year?”

“No, well, yes, well,” Harry doesn’t want to admit to breaking into the Slytherin common room last year. He doesn’t want his godfather thinking he’s a troublemaker. “My friend Hermione taught me. She’s very smart.”

Sirius takes the sandwich from him. “Hm, must be.”

They eat silently for a few minutes before Harry finds he has to ask another question, or three. “So you can’t trust anyone on the run? Will we have to do that every time we’re apart? Do I ask you a question?”

Sirius looks overwhelmed. He doesn’t respond for a long minute before he puts down his sandwich. “We shouldn’t have to separate again. It won’t be long before we leave here—it’s not safe. Where were you going last night?”

“I wasn’t going anywhere.”

Sirius looks at him strangely. “You were running away. I wouldn’t wish Petunia Evans on anyone. I assume you don’t want to go back?”

“Go back? I’m not going back,” Harry says. He feels a tiny flicker of anger. Shouldn’t Sirius know this? “I hate them! They hate me! I had to leave, and I’m not going back. Not now that I have you!”

“Harry,” Harry doesn’t know how to describe the way Sirius is looking at him. Lost, maybe.

He lifts his chin stubbornly. “I won’t.”

“I wouldn’t make you, but you can’t stay with me. It’s too dangerous.”

This makes Harry angry. He shouts before he can stop himself. “No it’s not! I’ve been in plenty of danger!”

Sirius glares at him. “Harry, I know what I’m talking about. Peter blew up the whole damn street last time I saw him! You can’t be anywhere near that man.”

Harry pauses. Peter. He was taught that name. “You’re going after the man who betrayed my parents?”

“I saw him in the Prophet,” Sirius pulls out an old copy of the paper and slaps it on the ground between them. It’s the edition Harry has a slip of in his trunk about the Weasley lottery win, all of them are waving happily at the camera.“He’s close to you, too close.”

“I want to stay with you.” Harry says firmly. It’s not much choice—he has literally nowhere else to go.

“It’s not safe.”

“I have nowhere else to go!”

•••

_Harry wants to stay with him. He wants to follow him._

_He’s fiercely loyal and brave, even at thirteen. And stubborn._

_And lonely. Lonely and angry. Every inch of body screams that he’s denie love. And stability. And family._

_But Sirius knows lonely and Harry’s is his fault._

_And he can’t start undoing that with Harry there._

_It’s not safe._

_Harry needs to be safe._

***

“We can’t stay here forever.”

It’s the first words Sirius speaks after a long frosty silence. Harry shut down after admitting that he was going to be expelled from school. That he used illegal underage magic. That he couldn’t control himself. Harry looks at him suspiciously.

“We can’t, the wards will fall and the Ministry will find you. They’re probably going stark raving mad over losing you. They’ll notice if your signature appears anywhere.”

“Where can I go?” Harry asks sullenly. It seems like every outcome is bad. The Dursleys? Bad. The ministry? Bad. With Sirius? Apparently he won’t take him, so bad.

“Where were you going before I found you?”

Harry glares. It seems underhanded to throw that back him. When he knows Harry just wants to stay where he is.

“I don’t know really.” It feels like admitting defeat. “London. I was going to fly to London, and go to the bank. To get money.”

“Money,” Sirius says. He stands suddenly and starts to pace. “You could stay in a room at the Leaky Cauldron. But, don’t you have any friends?”

Harry flushes in shame, “They’re out of the country on holiday right now.”

“All of them?” Harry nods, all two anyway. He feels defeated. The waving photo of the Weasleys is still visible on the ground, taunting him. “Couldn’t they track me? If I was just at the Leaky Cauldron?”

“I don’t think they’ll expel you.” Sirius says. “They are probably going stark mad over losing you. They think I’m out to kill you, you know. And you’re quite important.”

“They said they’d expel me.”

“It’s all poppycock. Scare tactics, to stop kids from doing magic. No one’s ever been expelled for underage magic. Especially not accidental underage magic.”

Harry frowns. “That’s mean. I didn’t mean to do accidental magic. How can you scare someone into stopping doing things by accident?”

“There’s a question for my mother,” Sirius mutters. He rubs his head over his face. “Look, if we can get you on the Knight Bus, you can travel to London and the Ministry will find you, and it’ll all be fine.”

It seems a little too easy. Harry’s problems don’t just fix themselves like that. Well, maybe they do, but usually he has a rougher time about it than this. “They’ll just send me back to the Dursleys. They won’t even take me back, I blew up my aunt.”

Sirius snickers, and stops, surprised. “You’re just like your father, y’know.”

Harry sits up eagerly. “Really?”

“He was a little troublemaker as well,” Sirius leans back. “Can’t say I was much better, but he was always running around sticking his fingers where he had no business being. He’d have a right laugh after hearing you blew that wench like a balloon. He once set his own great aunt’s wig on fire three times in an hour.”

Harry thinks that sounds rather frightening, but he laughs anyway. “You sound like me and Ron and Hermione. Mrs. Weasley always says we walk ourselves into trouble.”

“Weasley?” Sirius comes to a dead stop. He fumbles for the paper and points at the picture of the Weasleys in Egypt, pressing it close to Harry. “You’re friends with Ron Weasley? Molly’s boy?”

“Best friends.”

“I’ll kill him.” Sirius growls. Harry tenses and looks from the picture to Sirius. Kill him? Kill who? “I’ll kill him, that vile little rat. That pathetic evil pest. He’s been so close.”

Sirius stands up and pulls out his wand. Harry scrambles to his knees, and speaks cautiously. “Kill who?”

“Wormtail! The traitor, your parent’s killer!” Sirius gestures with the paper again. “He’s right there, he’sbeen living with them all this time! Waiting for you to come to him.”

Harry frowns in confusion. How could he be with the Weasleys? Surely someone would have noticed. How could Sirius tell? Unless he recognises his face? “Mr. Weasley?”

“What? No,” Sirius points very carefully at Ron’s shoulder, at Scabbers. “The rat. He’s an animagus. We all were. He’s even missing a toe. All Peter left behind at the crime scene was a finger. He cut it off, his middle finger.”

Scabbers is missing that toe. “B-but, I’ve met Scabbers. If he was trying to kill me, I’d know.”

Admitedly, he’s only held Scabbers a couple times because the rat always tried desperately to get out of his grip. Plus, the thing honestly feels kinda gross. He’d never tell Ron that thought since it would hurt his feelings. Luckily, Ron mostly just held Scabbers himself.

“It’s him.” Sirius sounds determined, like he couldn’t possibly be wrong. “I don’t know why he hasn’t done anything to you, but it’s him.”

They sit on that for a moment. The air is heavy. His best friend’s pet rat is evil. His best friend’s pet rat killed his parents and twelve others. It sounds ridiculous and cruel, but stranger and crueler things have happened to Harry, so he’s inclined to believe it.

“So what will you do?”

“Excuse me?”

“If Ron’s rat is Wormtail?”

Sirius looks away from him, staring menacingly at the wall. “I’m going to force him out of hiding and kill him for all he’s done to us.”

Harry gasps. He feels a creeping tightness curl up his tummy. “Kill him? But what about the Ministry? How will they know you’re innocent?”

“I’ll drop his body on their doorstep.” Sirius says, a hint of a smile on his face. “That’ll teach ‘em.”

“Then they’ll arrest you for killing him!” Harry says. His hands shake. “And then I’ll be alone again!”

“Harry,” Now Sirius looks at him again, but Harry looks away. It seems to be Sirius’s favourite mode of communication—staring. But Harry can’t look at him. Not if he’s going to leave.

“They’ll send me back! They will—Dumbledore won’t let me stay at Hogwarts and they won’t let me live alone and the Weasleys can’t take me either. I need you! You can take me away from them! We can live together. We can be family.”

He keeps looking at him. “Harry.”

“Please. Sirius, please. Don’t kill him.”

Sirius sighs. “Okay, but we need a plan then.”

•••

_He knows where to find him._

_Harry knows all about the Weasleys, and contacting Dumbledore._

_His wildly haphazard plan falls into tidy pieces within minutes._

_He can’t kill Peter._

_But looking at the boy before him, begging to be in his life—_

_Sirius thinks he can do one better._

•••

Some time later, Harry steps out of the flat accompanied by a large black dog. That had been a fright to find out, for sure. He’s holding his trunk with one hand, cage tucked up underneath the crook of his arm, wand hidden in his pocket. It’s bright outside, well into the afternoon.

Despite his fears, the Ministry doesn’t immediately come down around him even as he steps outside the wards. Sirius says they shouldn’t unless he does magic or stands around too long in the same place. He walks casually away from the flat for several blocks. Best not lead anyone back there. He ends up in a park, Sirius trailing behind him dutifully.

Padfoot starts running as soon as they hit the grass and it makes Harry want to giggle. He really acts like a real dog, rolling around in the sun like it’s the happiest thing in the world. Maybe it is.

They have a plan. It’s a good one too. One with only a little bit of lying—Sirius wants to be there when it happens. And he wants Harry to NOT be there. Sirius seems to want a bit of a dramatic reveal since he can’t kill Peter anymore.

Harry decides to let him have it.

Padfoot comes running back with a stick.

“Good boy, Padfoot,” Harry teases. He ruffles his head and takes the stick and throws it. Sirius darts after it like his life depends on it and Harry lets out a loud laugh. Then he realises he’s basically laughing at a dog chasing a stick, which is what dogs do. Except, Sirius isn’t a really dog, and it’s so silly it makes him laugh harder.

Padfoot bounces back towards him, and drops the stick a few feet away. He then moves forward and begins nudging at his legs. After a moment’s hesitation, Harry follows his lead and sits down on the grass. He is immediately gets a face full of dog hair and has to push Sirius away.

“That’s gross,” Harry says, making a face. “I have to go soon. You said I shouldn’t linger.”

Padfoot pouts, letting out a low whine that makes Harry feel guilty. “You told me this twenty minutes ago!”

Padfoot whines again and Harry laughs again. He pets his head absently and looks up at the sky.

“It’s only three weeks. Maybe I could sneak out and visit you earlier.”

A muted sound. The clouds are moving so slowly and he can see a dog in the clouds.

“I guess you won’t be in London yet though. And I don’t know how to find you. You’ll just have to be at our meeting place.”

Harry is quiet for another minute. Sirius wriggles his way closer until his head is resting under Harry’s chin. After a moment, Harry buries his nose in the fur. It’s dirty and smells like dog, but it’s also warm so Harry focuses on that and whispers what he’s really thinking.

“I really want this to work.”

Sirius pushes his head up against Harry’s nose. _It will_ , he seems to say. He doesn’t need words. Pulling back, Harry looks Sirius in the eyes. They are a dog eye’s, large and almost entirely iris, but they’re the same cool grey as Sirius the person.

He smiles.

A few seconds later, he stands and stretches. He gives Sirius one last pat and says goodbye. Then. he turns back and drags his things back to the edge of the park. He spots a bus stop on the corner and decides it’s appropriate to stop there. He hears Padfoot bark, almost as if laughing, when he realises.

He looks back at him, just a black dog in green park. He’s scared to look away, like this will all fade away. He doesn’t have a choice though. Sighing, he pushes his hair down, sure to cover his scare and he raises his wand arm out into the street. Like hailing a taxi, Sirius had said looking extremely proud with himself over the muggle term.

There’s a sudden and loud BANG! Harry flinched back despite knowing it was coming and glanced back at Sirius to see if he saw Harry get scared. He did and Harry flushes, embarrassed. Though in hindsight, it’s probably not as embarrassing as knocking himself silly because a dog came out from behind a bush. Sirius must think he’s quite a scaredy cat.

Looking back hastily, he sees the Knight Bus in true hideous purple glory. It’s exactly as Sirius described, three stories with matching conductor. A teenage boy with massive ears who opens the door and trails immediately into a long spiel, revealing a strong Cockney accent.

“Good afternoon, welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor for today. Where can we take you today sir?”

“Er, London. Leaky Cauldron.” He has his coins in his pocket.

“‘Course, sir. That’s eleven Sickles, but for fourteen you can get chocolate.”

Harry smiles, “I’ll get chocolate.”

Stan Shunpike smiles back at him, pats him on the back. “Good lad. And what’s your name?”

“Uh, Neville. Neville Longbottom.”

Stan does a horrible job restraining his smile at the name. He clasps his hands together. “Alright then Longbottom, let’s get you sorted.”

Together, he and Stan lift his trunk onto the bus. With one foot on the bus, Harry peers in to see a bunch of chairs—baffling not fastened to the ground—loosely gathered in the centre left side of the bus. “You can sit wherever you like. Empty today. Our driver over there is Ernie Prang. Ern, this here is Neville Longbottom.

Ernie is an old wizard, and he looks over at Harry quickly and nods in acknowledgement.

“Well?” Stan prompts, “You getting on?”

He’s still standing, one foot on the bus. Oops.

“Sorry, erm, yes.” Harry glances backnervously once more. He expects Sirius to be go, but he spots him within eye’s view. Sitting and watching. Tail wagging. It calms him. He smiles again and turns back to Ernie.

“What’re you looking at?” Stan peers over his shoulder.

“Nothing, sorry. I’ll get on now.”

Harry steps onto the bus. He takes his seat and with a loud BANG, they are shooting away before Harry can look back once more.

He’s alone again, but this time, he feels better about it.

He knows it won’t last forever.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sure this is riddled with errors and i'm sorry
> 
> i'll edit it (& maybe rewrite the parts i just couldn't get out right) later when i'm less busy and less depressed
> 
> nonetheless, i hope you enjoyed! <3 <3 thanks for reading


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